


Muzzled

by theTabularium



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, PTSD, Retcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theTabularium/pseuds/theTabularium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crash, it would be said, killed them both; black ice and excess speed. But it was a bullet that killed Howard Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muzzled

** Operation ROXXON **

December 17, 1991.

Long Island, NY, USA.

 **Mission Status:** Greenlit.

\--- 

They had been on target for a scant week. That week had been cold, icy and restricted their access to the target. Snow kept them at bay, limiting their windows to when in transit. Finally a break in the snow had given them a chance.

An inside feed relayed the movement. The target was departing a meeting for their home residence. The window was open but it was closing fast. The decision had been made. The asset was activated.

Target: Howard Stark

Status: In transit.

Action: Deploy Asset.

\---

It was cold. Not unbearably so and warm by contrast to cryostasis. Anywhere was better then that dreamless void. The sun was already sitting low but offered no heat as it set into an icy night. There were few scattered, low clouds to interrupt the visibility. A gentle dusting of snow fell over the outwash plains and their saltgrass, further erasing an already camouflaged figure with its white mantle.

The Soldier rolled his shoulders, settling his gear under the heavy jacket as he waited. There was naught but calm determination in his eyes, peering from under the snow-laden brim of a battered Stetson, as he prepared himself in his nest. He unfolded the collapsed OCB-96 from its case, folded out its stand and settled it into the lip of the nest, sighting along its barrel briefly to roughly align it.

Before him lay a 15 and a half mile stretch of road curving gently North beyond the horizon line. On one side stretched an equal length of beach letting into the Atlantic Ocean, the other a vast series of inlets. The road was slick and iced, but the heavier snow of days before had receded and mostly cleared the carriageway. Settled into the saltgrass of a small tussock with the gentle arc of the road out in front of him, the flat terrain barren of trees gave the Soldier almost unlimited field of view.

"Stark has left the conference." The surveillance team informed him via earpiece. "Detour in place. Diversion triggered."

The Soldier gave no reply. He never did.

Yet something else did. A faint ghost woke in the back of his mind. A part of him that had long ago lost the reason to fight the cold programming with screams silenced only by a muzzle.

 _Stark! Howard Stark!_ Splinters of something else- someone outside the Soldier as he knew himself to be- stirred painfully. In an instant, it drew him from the tussock and into a labyrinth of confusion.

 _Where is Stark? Have I been recaptured?_ Recaptured? What nonsense was this? The Soldier was in turmoil.

 _Has Howard got me? Thank God. If anyone can fix this, it's Stark._ Incorrect, there was nothing to be fixed. Still, the Soldier redid his standard operational diagnostics.

Execute perimeter check.

The grey gaze, usually sharp and clear with singular intent but now slightly wide with something nearing panic, swept his surroundings. Barren saltmarsh in mid-winter snow. It was hovering just above 30 degrees, a light wind from the North-East and lingering humidity from the snowfall of the previous night. The occasional headlight of a car travelling along the parkway lit the late afternoon but he was secure in his saltgrass nest. There was nothing short of an infra-red scan that would reveal his position and even that would be hard to distinguish. He was alone. His position was secure.

Perimeter sound.

Execute operational systems check.

Metal plates on the Soldier's sleeved left arm rippled from shoulder to wrist almost anxiously. He flexed the gloved digits slowly. Without shifting his position in the saltgrass, he rolled his shoulder with a lift and twist. Internal servos and cybernetic tendons whirred softly and smoothly. Satisfied the arm was functioning, he concentrated on the rest of himself. No muscle soreness despite the chill of the evening. His combat suit was well insulated, keeping his body at a minimal operational temperature in order to disguise his body heat.

The only thing that caught him was his pulse. Its operational rate was always steady, controlled. He could take a target between each beat without missing one of either. But it fluttered now against his ribs like an injured bird.

All systems operational.

Minor anomaly in heartrate. Rectify.

The Soldier took a long breath to calm his strangely racing heart. No breath plumed from his masked face. In truth it was no mask but more akin to a muzzle, secured with a dull buckle hidden under his hair. Fingers twitched across it absently but made no effort to remove it. Once such an action would have been punished with mind-searing shocks and a physical beating to match. Now the touch was but another glitch caused by something that came before the simple, effective programing of the Soldier himself.

It had been so long since these things had troubled the Soldier. His programming had no care for the pestilent glitches that made him question, made him doubt, made him feel. The ghost in the machine always caused abnormalities in his operational capability. He would make sure to report it to the handlers when he debriefed.

The Soldier nestled the butt of the rifle into his right shoulder, settled further into the ground and began to ready himself. Slowly his breathing calmed and lengthened. His trigger finger rested against the side of the grip. A predatory gaze flickered constantly over the landscape before him, ever patient.

His earpiece crackled again. "Diversion complete. Confirmed Howard Stark heading West along Ocean Parkway from Robert Moss Causeway. One passenger, Maria Stark."

A breath faltered in his throat, his finger twitching unbidden.

 _Maria? That's wrong,_ _Stark hated Maria in the labs, harassing him._ Images of a fine featured woman with a smile that could power a small submarine. The face of his target joined hers in an affectionate display and a strange warmth grew in his chest. The Soldier blinked like a stunned animal but the images persisted as if burned into his retinas by a flash grenade.

 _Wait. What is going on here?_ The Soldier felt his programming slip suddenly and his throat constricted painfully. _Oh god- Stark!_

System Error: Baseline breached.

Rectify.

Suddenly he saw every detail on the rifle nestled against him. The iced blades of the saltgrass lit in the lowering sun. The crisp winter air held at bay by the suddenly claustrophobic mask. _No. Not this. Not them._

"Stark has passed Oak Beach. Approaching split lanes at Hemlock Bay."A surveillance team informed him.

 _No. I won't do this. You can't make me!_ His teeth worked in desperation and rage within the confines of his muzzle, throat closing with a scream barely restrained. The Soldier forced his breaths with a masked snarl. With dogged determination his breathing slowed through heaving, painful lungs.

Operating on basic programming, he slid the cover off the scope and rested his cheek against the cold stock, his finger alongside the trigger. Behind his muzzle his jaw clenched and his breath came in the rattling hisses. _I won't let you do this!_

"Travelling Westbound, inside lane. Black Jaguar Sovereign. Target will be marked."

The Soldier slid down a filter on the lens specially adapted to pick up a UV tracer painted on the car. Even in the fast fading winter light it was subtle enough to be noticed at a distance. The snow began to fall faster, hastened by the oncoming night.

Steely eyes found the mark, just entering his range of view.

 _Give me back my body, you bastard! I won't let you do this!_ The panic was building within him, right arm tremoring as if to rip the rifle away from himself. Steady hands began to shake. His throat ached to scream.

System Error: Unacceptable.

Rectifying.

In a single fluid motion the Soldier shifted the rifle from one shoulder to the other.

 _No- Please! Wait!_ The butt of the rifle braced against the cold metal of his biomechanical arm. Icy fingers rested steady over the trigger as his right fist worked in minute twitches.

3000 yards.

Revert.

 _Please, I'll do anything!_ Still drawing ragged breaths, the Soldier sighted the vehicle through the scope. His chest heaved in alien sobs. His throat and jaw worked to enunciate screams from the shards of someone else.

The Soldier had to regain control. The feel of the rifle in his left hand was reassuringly firm. Cold purpose began to frost his mind.

2500 yards.

Revert.

 _I promise I'll never ask for anything else again, just don't make me do this! Please!_ The Soldier heard a cacophony of pleas from within the depths of himself and it terrified him. Begging from targets was acceptable.

The Soldier never begged.

A cold metal grip tightened imperceptibly. The machinery was solid, reliable. Focused with cool certainty. This chill flooded his body and froze his pulse. Deadly calm fell upon him, ignorant of the screaming within.

2000 yards.

Target in range.

 _Wait- no!_ The Jaguar rumbled towards the tussock.

Breathe.

The Soldier inhaled. A finger tightened on the trigger. _No!_

Aim.

The crosshairs rested on silhouette of a man's head for a moment. The Soldier led his target.

Fire.

The finger tightened with the exhalation that his throat would have made a scream. The rifle bucked slightly, recoil imperceptible against his mechanical shoulder.

On the road the windshield shattered. The Jaguar jerked as if stung. Tires locked on the iced road, bit, and threw the vehicle into death rolls that screamed and sparked.

The Soldier moved.

The OCB-96 collapsed and disappeared into its case. Seconds later he'd turned his back to the road and loped into the marshy scrub bordering the Parkway, unseen even by his own. Behind him a pyre erupted, belching smoke and flames into the darkening sky. The night leeched in, consuming the tussock and any trace of the Soldier in a frigid void.

The ghost in his head subsided with a last whimper, speaking a name that burned him.

_What am I going to tell Steve?_

The Soldier shivered, and not for the cold. Every time he mentioned that name it brought with it pain. Pain from the handlers, the cleansing white fire that he both loathed and loved, but also a deeper, darker undercurrent that seemed barely contained.

The Soldier resolved not to mention that name.

The Soldier resolved only to report the anomalous cardio activity to make sure this was fixed the proper way: hard system reset.

Just like that he was banished back to the cold.

\---

Distant sirens floated eerily closer, borne on flurries of ash-laden snow. Flames clawed at the darkening skies with silent rage. Vehicles of both directions stopped to stare in awe at the blazing viciously twisted wreckage on the center lanes. Within the first arrival of police crews the inbound paramedics were downgraded from response to proceed. There was no rushing the dead.

The crash, it would be said, killed them both; black ice and excess speed. But it was a bullet that killed Howard Stark.

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot that retcons, combines and reworks canonical information with MCU. My knowledge of canon is incomplete, forgive any errors or send me a message suggesting correction.
> 
> Completely Snakefeathers' fault.


End file.
